


Letters from an Angel (May)

by cardinalwrites



Series: Letters from an Angel [5]
Category: SPN, Supernatural
Genre: Castiel's POV, M/M, from just cas talking, it's crazy, spn rewrite, there's a mix of everything inhere, to destiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-10
Updated: 2016-11-10
Packaged: 2018-08-30 03:36:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 15,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8517013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cardinalwrites/pseuds/cardinalwrites
Summary: Castiel decided to keep a journal of all that he has thought about humanity, the Winchesters, and their daily lives. Takes you through current season 11 and will at times have destiel worthy canon occurrences from Castiel's point of view as well as episode codas depending on their original air dates. This is May, but the series will go through December.All posts taken from @castielsentries, which is very active and ongoing so feel free to check it out





	1. May 1

Hello,

         It has been 5 months into this endeavor and in that time I have learned that the art of writing comes with much more thought than one would initially realize. Granted, the form of writing has been available in scripture and to angels far longer than humans, but even so only a select few angels would ever take it upon themselves to write excessively and endlessly. There are myths even of angels being reborn as humans and continuing this incredibly fervor to write every day knowledge into code.

         In terms of myself I have long said that I choose to record the memories I do not want to forget, the feeling of life through my eyes and not someone else’s. There are days in which there has been little to write about, such as days in where nothing was done in the bunker or I forced Sam and Dean to take a much deserved break while I tended to the searching through the internet or looking for potential cases. Those were days in where I would let my mind wander to more abstract ideas, but then there are days in where I think not of the idea but rather the event, in this case, the need to sleep.

         Dean has often been quoted in saying he is in need of his four hours worth of rest time so as to function normally, but on many occasions (especially with looming threats over the fate of the world) he as misinformed my brother and me on just how little he does sleep. With all Dean has been through it is understandable, Sam even more so, why neither area able to get more than a few hours of sleep at a time, but even so it is unhealthy that their sleeping and resting patterns are so erratic. This very thought had occurred to me not too long ago after Sam and Dean had returned from a case that involved a rest and rehabilitation establishment; a spa, if you will. Both seemed slightly better kept for a few days after the hunt, but not before Sam expressed the thought of perhaps going to a local masseuse in town to work on the muscles in his back to me. He had said Dean would likely not mind the attention either, but Sam had gotten the last appointment with the woman. Thus, the seed was planted.

         I remember researching different calming methods before Sam mentioned Dean had gone more than two days without properly sleeping, meaning the hunter was on his last legs and most likely only functioning with ample amounts of caffeine pumping through his system. When I had realized that he had begun to lull in his chair I began the preparations for attempting a massage. Angel healing can only heal physical wounds for the most part, therefore mental and exhaustion took a much more delicate procedure, and with Dean never having been one to enjoy others invading his personal space with the exception of women, this had to be dealt with care for it to properly work with Dean.

         I laid down herbal oils that Sam had purchased for me near Dean and tentatively began the procedure, waiting for any sign of protest that I was expecting to come from the semi unconscious Dean. As expected, he sobered up quickly and nearly snatched my hands away from my vessel, if that were to have been possible he would have done it. After questioning my intentions I began to realize that Dean truly was about to go unconscious. Not five minutes later he consented and then fell straight onto the small couch. Exhaustion and mental breaks are surprisingly few in number for Sam and Dean, therefore for Dean’s state of being to get so unruly was truly unbecoming of him.

         When he did wake up, however, he seemed newly reenergized, the oils and sleep most likely the culprit for his bettering mood. He never questioned on whether or not I did end up giving him the massage after his initial outburst, but I did notice his movements were much less strained for a few days after; he most likely did as well. Regardless, in that moment I thought less about abstract ideas and more about the need to take care of oneself as a person, human, or celestial being. It is a lesson I currently have to keep reminding myself of, but I still have the oils and smell them quite often. They truly are soothing for those under stress.

 

Yours,

Castiel


	2. May 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam's birthday :D

Hello,

            Dean is most likely instilling his creations meant to annoy his brother, even under the stress of the world potentially ending at the hands of Amara. He will do this annually, much like how Sam and I will work through the night for his birthday, only in the case of Dean working by himself the result is more commonly a series of scares and inconveniences meant to distract Sam from getting any amount of credible work completed.

            There have been years in which all that Dean will do is buy a few cases of beer and offer them to Sam as a birthday present, but more often than not Dean will find a way to put a “gag” of his own manufacturing into one area of the motel or the bunker depending on where we would be. Last year Dean had replaced the shampoo and conditioner with color dye, making Sam’s job as an FBI agent all the more questionable for a few weeks until his hair color was no longer orange. Another case involved Dean manually unscrewing the shower cabinet and placing different forms of multicolored candy, thus resulting in the victim’s hair being extremely sticky and discolored after washing. This one I had unknowingly fallen victim to after a particularly grueling hunt that had required me to bathe... Dean has refrained from using that last one since then.

            For his part Sam would often wish to sit in the library and do what he wishes, whether it is searching for a case or reading more lore. Even on his birthday he would much rather continue working. I would usually aid Dean in finding a gift, but he would often insist on getting two cards so that Sam would get more than one gift, but I have a feeling it is most likely because Dean does not wish to put our names on the same card for ulterior purposes, though why he would refrain from allowing for us to get him a present together I do not understand.

            I would often help Dean with the more socially acceptable forms of celebration, such as going to buy a cake or attempting to find more fitting presents. After the debacle with the candy hair Dean had begun to tell me where and what he was changing so as to get Sammy and for me to avoid those specific areas, but he had failed to mention the invitation of a scantily clad female two years ago while we were at a motel. Dean had forcefully pushed me out of the motel for the remainder of the night so that Sam could have the room to himself, but upon our return we found the motel door empty, a note on the door saying for us to work it out. I never did figure out what he meant, but he did reappear the following day and did not mention it.

            Whichever the case Dean decides to manufacture this year, I hope Sam recovers from the potential damages and Dean can find a way to plan his schemes without my assistance. Happy birthday, Sam.

 

Yours,

Castiel


	3. May 3

Hello,

         Teachers are very underappreciated individuals. They are meant to encourage, promote, and improve future generations and yet many do not get the recognition they deserve for their efforts. Teachers are very much equivalent to angels when it comes to taking care of children in many suspects, one of which being that they are the physical manifestation of a person children can confide in if family is not an option.

            Sam once told me about a previous teacher that he had in one of the many schools he attended whilst traveling the country hunting with his father, a young man at the time that only sought for the best in his pupils; in many regards the very definition of a teacher. He spoke animatedly about this particular teacher, which only at the time led me to wonder if I had ever been considered a teacher. As a leader of a garrison, I suppose I had mentored other angels that were in my charge, but did I ever become their teacher? It is very likely given my reputation that not many of my former subordinates would consider me such now. Sam himself can be considered a teacher, however. He has taught academia as well as other hunters on the off chance they were aiding on a case. Dean as well. The Winchesters are natural teachers, even if perhaps they fail to realize it.

            Dean most likely taught Claire without conscious knowledge now that I think about it further. With her tumultuous life and with me not being her first choice in a confidant it is very likely she turned to either Sam or Dean, and of the two Dean would be more than likely to show her how to handle herself into he field much to my dismay or any protest I would have in the matter. If Dean ever were to settle down truly, either in this life or with a spouse and children to call his own, he would make a good parent. His father’s misgivings, for all that they encompassed, forged a need in Dean to be something different, even if he did inherit some of his father’s poorer habits.

             Dean has a very interesting connection to children, whether it be of his own flesh and blood in the form of his brother or children that we encounter during the misfortune of being on a hunt. He himself would say otherwise, but his children one day will be in very good hands in the future. Sam refers to it as an “Apple Pie Life,” very fitting for Dean, but one day soon I pray he gets it.

The topic of today had been to speak of teachers, but I find that I end up in the same point every day when I conclude. To surmise, Sam and Dean have been my teachers, and one day they will continue to teach their own children. I will be with them in some capacity, perhaps teaching them in thanks for their fathers having taught me. This is a very pleasing ending, but unfortunately a highly unlikely one for us.

 

Yours,

Castiel


	4. May 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Goes with 11x20. Watch before reading

Hello,

         The pain in my body has slowly become more and more apparent over the last few days. It was always present from the beginning, but with every passing day I have grown to realize the pain is being inflicted severely upon my body, upon Lucifer’s vessel. I have not prayed in a long time, but today I could not help but think about all the events that lead to this ordeal. The neglect, the distress, the binges, the acceptance, the capture, and now the resulting torture; all because Amara is searching for God. Are miracles even performed by him anymore?

         Sam and Dean are most likely tracking any leads that could surface from her usage of power, and with her recent withdrawals in pain reception I can only assume she has left to either feast on souls or engage in releasing even more fog into small areas. Perhaps Sam and Dean have found a town in which this is affecting its inhabitants. Or perhaps they have already succumbed to the fog themselves, as much as I would wish that were not the case.

         The air is stale here, with the few glimpses that I am receiving from outside my mind. Lucifer is extremely weak, but his expressions are far from destroyed. If God or the Winchesters do not find us soon, however, I am unsure of what the outcome will be for anything anymore... No matter, it is not of my immediate concern anymore. What I can talk about instead is the idea of miracles performed by the ultimate form of divine intervention, or rather, their lack thereof. Miracles are few and far between, and yet is it possible that God wishes not to interfere because he simply no longer cares about humanity? That cannot be, humanity may be flawed, but it’s creation and continuation has blossomed and thrived to share compassion and love, even if hate and denial continue to exist. There is light for just as much darkness, arguably even more so. If only God were to see it that way enough to aid in humanity’s endeavors instead of destroy them and begin anew.

         I hear the gentle tones of music playing, though for whatever song it may be I am unsure. Music is truly one of humanity’s greatest inventions, and yet even so there are songs yet to be written and emotions yet to be conveyed. This particular song sounded deeply conflicting, almost as if the singer has come to a realization brought upon by an intervention. A miracle within a miracle...

         There is a tremendous amount of sudden pain now. Amara is furious. Something happened in a town with the fog. Something monumentally changing has happened in a town with the fog. Someone has arrived.

 

Yours,

Castiel


	5. May 5

Hello,

         Dean would sometimes be very persistent in ordering tacos on any given Tuesday, taking care to avoid the words “pig” and “poke” in the process, but with today being Thursday, I am at a loss as to why so many people are partaking in the same routine of ordering and selling tacos and other cultural foods akin to those that reside in Mexico or the South American countries. Cinco de Mayo is Spanish for the fifth of May, and yet it seems to be a bigger spectacle than the original Latino experience during the American Civil War. I did hear of a Civil War taking place soon, but I do not think the two are related in the same respect that I originally thought them to be.

          I did try a taco once; this was during one of the aforementioned “Taco Tuesdays,” but I did not equate them with the same fervor, as others seem to want them for. The meal had been delicious with its mixes of different aromas and flavors, but the idea that a taco was the only option available on a day that shares it’s first letter is complex for me to understand. If that were the case, would today, Thursday, not be of the same regard? Maybe I misjudged the entire situation and it is not in fact about this particular day at all. Perhaps it is just Taco Thursday...

         But that is beside the matter. I enjoy watching others express their cultural traditions and others celebrate a day with the right ideas in mind as to the why the day is considered special for some. Much like for example how different religions can still gather and worship in communal areas, or how others celebrate traditions and customs not directly related to oneself as the individual. In many regards, holidays such as today and cultural traditions or times of celebration and observances of civil battles are truly remarkable to witness.

 

Yours,

Castiel


	6. May 6

Hello,

            Warehouses are not uncommon sights to be trapped in as of late for me. I have begun to see the inner workings of plaster and four by four pieces of woods and their interwoven architecture fare more intimately than I had when I had witnessed Noah build the Ark. Of course, in the present scenario I can feel the pain being inflicted upon my person, unlike how I had felt in the latter.

            Lucifer has been walking aimlessly around the halls for some time now, either unsure of what to say or attempting to maintain his persona in front of Amara whenever she does return from running an errand (or, I wish to not admit, eating another soul). My brother has not stopped in his attempts at banter and mind evasion, but that has only cost more pain than reason to be had.  This entire ordeal reminds me of Dean torturing Alistair after having been prompted to do so, the torture being reversed and nearly resulting in Dean losing his life.

I had still much to learn from Sam and Dean at that point, but seeing Dean so destroyed from a miscalculation was enough to fuel my anger to no end. In the many years between that incident and the present the three of us, Dean, Sam, and myself, have been tortured and turned far too many times, and yet we somehow manage to survive. Granted, some survival resurrections have come at the hands of divine intervention, but they still came. This is why I still hold on to the small shred of logically built theory that I will not die with Lucifer under the torture of the Darkness. Amara has yet to finish me because she is searing for God, therefore until he appears before her or before someone else than there is still a chance this form of suffering will end soon. I am no longer sure about what the outcome of this battle will be, therefore to be spared by the Darkness now when Lucifer and the archangels had been the ones to lock her away along with God is something that I can only attribute to another story being at play here, one that no one is yet truly aware of entirely. This story will likely involve Sam and Dean as well, and perhaps my Father may finally show himself. Given with what we have fought in the past the idea of Him not appearing is also entirely viable, but these are the thoughts that are currently going through my mind as I continue to hear and feel Amara yelling for God to return. The singing from earlier has vanished, but it has riled her up into an incomprehensible fury that I had never thought to be possible on Earth.

... She asked about Dean again, about the stakes to a soul and how they can be frayed. For a being that is considerably older than myself and devours the very thing she is questioning I find it odd that she does not know about souls and their capabilities, how some can be tethered to others eternally or branded after a traumatic experience. Alas, that is a story to be analyzed for another time.

 

Yours,

Castiel


	7. May 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baby's birthday :)

Hello,

         Before it’s implications with the Apocalypse and Sam and it’s disputed endeavors in the automotive industry, there had been a time in where Dean had told me about his father and his visit to Detroit. The Impala was built in the city of Janeseville, but its blueprints were manufactured and driven into the world at the General Motors factory in Detroit. Dean had told me about one of his first “solo missions” guiding him into the city, a day where he had to run a case in the very building the car that he loves so much has its roots.

         If you have never been to Detroit, it is no longer the city is once was unfortunately, but that does not mean the city does not retain it’s cultural merit ingrained in the automotive industry. Henry Ford stationed his legacy here; a contract that still even now begins to push people to this city. There are casinos, tourists, cars of every make and model on the roads, and Dean had told me about the mass amounts of car dealerships and repair shops that resulted from the aforementioned areas. His case back then concerned the remains of one of the factory workers from the 1950s, building and living just underneath where the headquarters now stand that had fallen into a vat of boiling substance. His body had been recently discovered at the time of Dean’s case, which is what drove the ghost out of its dormant state and sent it on a rampage, causing machinery to malfunction and putting workers’ lives at risk. Dean had told me briefly about how he had pacified the ghost, but he wanted to get to the other reason behind his wishing to tell the story; “the part about breaking into the place and seeing some of their restoration projects, including another Baby.”

The only other times Dean does not seem as if the weight is on his shoulders is when he is talking about Sam or his car, therefore to listen to him tell a story about finding a partially restored 1967 Impala in the repair shop had been a very insightful experience. Dean has never been one to smile or confide in others in a particularly “normal” way of sorts, but the way he would smile unabashed at the memory or how he would make himself laugh, briefly forgetting all that we had yet to accomplish is something that I do wish Sam and he would do more often. He had told me about how he had driven his Impala into the lot of the headquarters, how the dealers had begged for him to sell them the car in its pristine condition. Dean had waved away considerable amounts of money in laughter. Even I smile at the memory and the mere thought of Dean ever selling his Baby. Dean did as well, but having the car had allowed for him access into the headquarters to view the crime scene. Dean had said it had been one of the most surreal hunts he had ever had, a case in where people wanted to help him solely because he had the “most kick ass car in the lot.”

Detroit no longer holds the same amount of significance that it once did to Dean. The central base of the company that gave way to one of his most prized possession became the near death of his closest kin, but after a city in ruin began to recuperate I wonder if there is still chance for the Winchesters to return with a much lighter agenda in mind. Perhaps they could return to the GM factory now, or they could visit the Ford Village. Dean could make another memory in Detroit that would help him forget the horrors that he witnessed there, past or alternate future aside. I do not know if I would be there to join him, but it would be interesting to see the factory in which such an integral part of hunting was conceptualized. In many ways, the Impala the most hardworking machine for Sam and Dean, reliable through even the direst of circumstances, and in a city that thrived on cars, hopefully Dean can find a new experience to give him enough reason to return without thinking of what had happened in the past.

 

Yours,

Castiel

 

 


	8. May 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mother's Day

Hello,

         Today is a very kind day for mothers who give so much to their children, a day in where mothers are meant to be highlighted for their work and loving of their children. It should be seen as a momentous occasion for all families, but having been with the Winchesters for this long I have come to realize that today is a somber day for them, Dean more so than Sam.

         It is because this day carries the same significance that November 2, 1983 does. It is a day that reminds him of his mother so painstakingly much.

         The first year that I had realized this connection was when Dean declined drinks while we were at a bar gathering information. For Dean to decline any form of alcohol, especially towards the beginning, was a major sign of concern given his unhealthy record with the substance. That was when I had been first introduced to the concept of a day to celebrate motherhood, how sons and daughters would take their mothers out to lunch or to an event so as to allow for the mother to feel at ease. Sam had been too young to truly know his mother, which is why this day was particularly harder for Dean.

         The subsequent years I later realized Dean’s coping methods for this particular day. It would be a day where he would cook for Sam (and later for me), where he would clean the motel room, the Impala, or the bunker rooms depending on where we were on that day, where he would pay for another’s meal as a present while we were at a restaurant. I soon realized that Dean—whether subconsciously or not—would attempt to act in the way he likely had seen other sons act on this day when in the presence of their mothers. Both brothers had grown up as soldiers, but not before Dean had experienced a life in where he could take care of his mother by doing the smaller things.

         Three years had been particularly difficult. 2013 had marked 30 years since Mary’s death, which I had heard Dean whispering to himself in the kitchen. Sam had already gone to sleep at that point and I had been the only one left awake to patrol the bunker, but Dean had not yet sense my presence when I saw him retrieve the weathered picture of Mary Winchester from his room. He’d spoken to her aloud, telling her about Lillith, Abaddon, the trials, and only stopped talking upon reaching my name. It made me wonder if this had been a reoccurring event for Dean; how often had he spoken to his mother’s picture, how often had he told her photo about me?

         I did not want to intrude on the moment, for Dean would have surely closed himself off from me from having caught him in a vulnerable state. That had been the day before the official day that was the American Mother’s Day holiday, but I made sure Dean had the ability to dream about Mary that night. It was the least I could do.

         To the mothers that may be reading this, may you spend a joyous Mother’s Day, and to the children/young adults reading this, do not cease in showing your mother that you care and that you love her. Happy Mother’s Day.

 

Yours,

Castiel


	9. May 9

Hello,

         Aquariums are places I found quite confusing at first; the idea of housing fish and other sea life in translucent containers with the sole purpose to be for observation. I did not fully understand the notion because I had seen sea life in its initial stages, how it grew and evolved across creation. I did not find need to see these creatures under a different light, but for humans I can understand the mystery these animals must give off, how they survive in an entirely different world where humans cannot without some form of oxygen aid.

         I have not experienced swimming in the same regard as humans have, but I have seen life under the water in some of the darkest depths of the ocean. It had been when I was overseeing formations and interactions in a new world towards the beginning of time, in essence what other angels had deemed a dull job. I did not mind it, however. It had been interesting at the time, much like how aquariums and the life that resides in them astound humans today. I observed sea life in its natural setting while humans will observe it in an area that they can control, usually without bringing harm upon the creatures but instead helping them and providing for them. Or at least, that is the notion that I understand.

         I find that aquariums give a very calming effect to most that go there. There is something about watching how the water flows and how the animals effortlessly control it that is mesmerizing to the viewer. I do wonder what it would be like to experience the idea of swimming through human eyes, or merely just residing in the same space as dolphins and fish, interacting with them instead of just standing behind a glass windowpane under the water level. It is different now, millennia later, in terms of how I regard these undersea creatures, the ones that humans at times forget exist whenever they pollute or taint their local waterways. But then again, I suppose I should not be one to chastise. I did unleash the leviathans into the water system...

On more than one occasion I had attempted to explain this information to Dean, which he complied to and began to recycle in the bunker. I do not know if either of them had attended aquariums, either for a case or on perhaps a school field trip. Sam most likely has in some form or another during his schooling. Dean I am not as certain, but it does make me question just how a hunt would go should we ever encounter a death in an aquarium or on a seabed. They have dealt with water-based creatures in the past, but how would we they fight underwater in the event that something similar occurs again? I cannot imagine either would be willing to don the necessary oxygen mask and equipment in the event that they are captured, but I suppose the question remains. For my part, my experience with fighting in water has been questionable and difficult, but I will settle for watching the fish glide by me for now.

Yours,

Castiel


	10. May 10

Hello,

Coffee has been a drink that I had enjoyed during my time as a human, but various fruit juices have also been an interesting exploration of flavors that I began to discover. From factory grown and produced to organic forms, juices such as apple juice, organic juice, and even grapefruit juice somehow manage to retain their respective flavors for the most part. Sam has been known to have orange juice on the occasion, while Dean is more of a person that will stick to the caffeinated card.

I have found apple juice to be rather tasteful, specifically apple cider from a far just outside of Detroit. In that particular farm, the apples are grown and harvested before being pressed completely for their juice, now added preservatives or any other form of human additive equivalent. It produces an organic and natural taste that is very much unlike the apple juice or orange juice I had tried while with Sam and Dean at diners or dives. If you had yet to enjoy the beverage known as apple cider I do recommend it. It is a sweet taste that houses a variety of ample vitamins and minerals for humans that are necessary for survival. It also tastes very good, which I have been told is a good thing.

Dean has taken the apple cider that I bring back and adds either vodka or whiskey to the mixture, which is the only way that he will willingly drink the “flower girl baby juice” that Sam and I enjoy. His version of the drink would more often than not leave me with an odd feeling, but not an unpleasant one. Sam would refuse to drink the concoction, calling it a “one way trip to the bathroom hotel for one.” I understood Sam’s caution after three drinks of Dean’s hard apple cider at the time, but I did not check into the supposed bathroom hotel. They must have good plumbing.

The reason that I think about this is because that apple cider memory was a pleasant one, even if it did result in Dean’s eventual demise in his attempt to drink more than me on one night. It had been an evening in where there were two men and one fallen seraphim simply behaving as if they were all human, no barriers or outward forces attempting to destroy them. It was a rare memory of peace, thanks to apple juice.

 

Yours,

Castiel


	11. May 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ties with 11x21 "All in the Family. "Watch before reading

Hello,

         I am bound, pain flashes through me in far greater strength than it has in the past few months. Lucifer is hurting, which by default means that my body is degrading. I had not felt that pain until recently, which means that there is a great amount of stress for me to feel something now.

         Amara is asking for Lucifer to find God, for God to reach out. I’d felt a presence earlier, but it could not have been Him, could it? Had Lucifer felt it? That must have been why he was goading Amara, why he was giving her passive aggressive comments about their relationship. From his anger and pain that I can feel I know he deeply loathes her even more than he did in the past. Perhaps now he will do what he agreed to do, but not while we are bound to this post in a silo.

         But Lucifer went to far in his attempt at banter, his attempt to gather more time. I felt my spine snap in two when she attempted to end Lucifer, when she knocked us both unconscious. It was not death, but it very much felt like it. The pain Lucifer was withholding from me exploded into a fury of destruction. I could not focus and maintain the area in which I was. Fear, pain, the lack of any existing area that I could think of all came instantly. I could see nothing, hear nothing; everywhere around me was Amara. I fear she must have felt my panic somehow; either that or my brain drove itself to delusions beyond my control. I thought I was back in the bunker again, Amara next to me as we stood before Dean and a computer, but that cannot be. Amara spoke of God, of Lucifer, but I felt Dean’s eyes on me. I could not have been there, could I? Darkness was all that I could feel for what felt like millennia both before and after that memory (was it a memory? A vision? Hallucination). The pain returned tenfold before I began to lose consciousness. I remember fog, light, and the inability to breathe after hearing the screams of those dying around me. I have no memory for some time after that.

         I vaguely heard voices before consciousness returned. Sam was there, along with a prophet and Metatron. It sounded as if Sam was making a deal with Lucifer, for Lucifer to work with God.

         ... That meant my Father truly was here. On Earth.

         If it weren’t for the pain I could almost have been surprised.

         When Metatron found the right spell it was almost as if the static had cleared from a television signal. The pain was still there, the noise of the channel, but it had been dulled enough to let me see an image far more clearly than before, just in time to see Metatron’s refusal to leave and Sam carrying my body by supporting my weight, the prophet Donatello not far behind. Metatron was not going to survive. It was the now common villain-redeeming arch that I have witnessed in countless series by now. It is one he will not return from.

         Sam drove as quickly as he could away from the area, but Amara still trapped the Impala. I vaguely remember asking where Dean was, but the memories and hallucinations were still mixing together with this supposed reality. Dean may have very well chosen not to save me. Sam only ever talked to Lucifer. It seems they no longer see me here at all.

         There was a loud clanging, what I had assumed to be Amara’s ultimate strike at us in the Impala. I was sadly mistaken to find that it was indeed a teleportation of some kind, but not by Lucifer. By whom?

         God. He had answered Sam’s increasingly erratic prayers at the time, and he was now standing before Lucifer with no ounce of surprise or anticipation. He looked like a man waiting for some sort of reaction from an animal or a fellow actor in the following scene. No reaction shot necessary.

         I did not need to be in my mind to know that Lucifer was boiling with anger, confusion, wonder, even fear. Our Father was here, after millennia where we had been left to our own devices. He no longer looked like the Father that was all seeing, caring, helpful to humanity in its infancy. This was a Father that looked upon two of his creations, one of his first-born and one that never listened, with no emotion except the acknowledgement of our behavior changes.  Lucifer and I have changed, yes, but Father... the idea of Him being here now shows that something has changed in Him as well. He healed us, but that only seemed to anger Lucifer. I was able to return to a full clarity image, to see again that which I chose to. This was something I could not stand any more. To see God here, working with Sam and Metatron, Dean nowhere in sight. I was once again left alone in my own world, free from memory and pain unlike mere minutes before. This is where I leave you. I have been through enough today to last four lifetimes; if they do not wish to acknowledge me then I need not continue tonight. I have yet to see Dean, but that no longer bothers me like it would have a few months ago. It is in the past now, and it has been made clear that Lucifer is the one that they need to stop the Darkness, just as it had been established when I had said Yes. I am naive to think anything might have changed in the interim.

 

Yours,

Castiel


	12. May 12

Hello,

Dean attempted to take me to a concert once. It had been in the same town that we were in at the time and Sam and wisely chosen to decline the offer, claiming he wished to be able to hear the following morning. Concerts and live performance venues are astronomically large, are they not? To accommodate such a quantity of people only to watch a handful of other people perform, often jostling each other in an attempt to reach for a hand or a better glance. Frankly, I did not understand the fascination, but I did understand the idea of hearing music from a different perspective. This one was not one in which the tune was identical every time, rather it fluctuated with the air around it, changing in loudness or retaining the emotion of the lyric. This particular concert had a medley of singers, half of which I recognized from Dean's music collection. 

At the time Dean had seemed excited. I can only assume he had been to a handful of concerts growing up in his spare time. His upbringing was truly gruesome. In that moment, however, Dean did not seem to care. It is interesting how concerts and just listening to music can affect some people, even those that long since believed they could no longer feel true happiness. I know because I have heard his prayers on more than one occasion regarding the matter.

Concerts are a celebration of the art form that is music; performers take them as a way to connect with the audience that purchases them, but they also act as a way to connect entirely different arrays of people and unite them together, be it for a song or simply a chorus. It is a connection that goes deeper than a simple note from what I have seen. Generations of people sing to a string of words that carry meaning, all live and in person. I remember Dean in that moment. He at that point had most likely had far too much to drink (This had coincidentally been around the anniversary of Mary’s death), any inhibitions that might have held him back long gone now as he sang louder than the people around us. I knew some of the words but I had never sung, and at that point I thought it best to sit and observe.

I had had to drive the Impala that night due to Dean’s very intimate conversation with alcohol, but the entire ride back to the motel was filled with the radio off and Dean merely singing out the window. This “concert high” as he had called it seemed to do wonders to his demeanor. It had been a good memory before I had jumped the curb and nearly dented the front of the Impala. Dean sobered up enough after that to continue the short drive back, but not without ceasing to sing at any point.

 

Yours,

Castiel


	13. May 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Friday the 13th. You know what that means

Hello,

 

Today has historically been linked with supernatural entities and a string of extremely horrible luck induced events occurring. On more than one occasion I remember finding ourselves victims of ghosts celebrating this holiday by plaguing Sam and Dean with more than one misgiving and inconvenience when on a case or on a hunt. It truly was a day that would make the superstitious weep with relief or dread if they were ever affected or protected from that which has attacked us on this day.

The concept behind this particular day can stem from biblical allusions, but it is interesting when considered in the scope of the entire world and different cultures. There had once been a case in New Mexico that involved the disappearance of sheep on one particular weekend that included Friday the 13th. The natives in that area, many of Mexican birth that had traversed the border or grown up in the area, did not attribute the missing sheep to the day, rather instead commented on Tuesday instead of Friday. Sam grew curious after that remark, and after some digging (and the eventual elimination of the creature that afflicted the town), we learned that the western custom of Friday the 13th is actually Tuesday the 13th for Latin cultures; Friday the 17th for Italian culture. Is that not odd? How the significance of a day that many attribute to house spiritual grievances falls on different days with the same intonations. Yes, Sam and I agreed that it was very interesting. Dean did not care due to the town still applying a deal for beers at the local bar inspired by the given day.

With all of this in mind, then, what truly is this mythical Friday? Does it apply to celestial beings or is it solely a belief held by Western cultures, changed and altered in some areas to fit with others’ beliefs? Sam had said he would look into the matter more after Dean had received minor alcohol poisoning from his second beer that night. I had been tasked with healing Dean of that sickness, but it was not one that could be dealt with quickly. Dean had spent a fair amount of the rest of that Friday next to a toilet... Perhaps this idea does carry some merit.

 

Yours,

Castiel


	14. May 14

Hello,

         Stars are truly feats of wonder are they not? It is very different to see them under the guise of human eyes, and while I have already spoken of stars in the past, constellations and how they are perceived is another topic altogether. Today is international Astronomy day from what I understand, therefore the study of celestial objects is at the forefront of my mind, or rather, by forefront I mean the topic in which I am choosing to focus on for the time being. There are countless documentaries on the subject.

         With every soul born unto the Earth, they are stereotypically placed under a sign. These range from Leo to Aquarius, Cancer to Gemini, in no particular order, but they are linked to astrology due to the constellations with which they are referencing. Now, astrology and astronomy are two entirely distinct studies, one of which is considered a pseudoscience by many, but nevertheless they do form some sort of residual connection with this regard. Gazing up into the stars and locating patterns in the sky that enable those that are lost to find their way, or others to find a common element that relates to their birth in the form of the constellation they were born under. There is a story in the sky for every soul, just as that story remains for the souls long since gone. Perhaps that is the reason why Sam and Dean regard them so often, or at least that could be a factor.

         For myself, the stars once held much more meaning to me in an entirely different scope of understanding. Originally and long before my time on Earth I was able to expand my knowledge of the stars boundlessly, stretching my being to meet the gaseous substances that burned so bright billions of years in the past, their light only ever reaching us long after the stars have burned out. Is that not a confounding concept? How light can continue to travel spans of the universe but their sources are no longer emitting it? Just look at the sun in this solar system, only hear it is close enough that it can be harmful to regard it without some form of optical protection.

         Each constellation tells a story given to it by human history. Where other cultures may modify this history, the overall story is oftentimes held in its integrity, because as much as the details of a story may change, the truth can still be seen in many parts of the world at one point or another during the year. It is a topic with which I can revisit and speak of for many more entries, I suspect, but for now I will leave it at that.

 

Yours,

Castiel


	15. May 15

Hello,

            Humans envision objects, ideals, steps, processes, and put them into motion. Many use the hands they were given to build a legacy as opposed to causing destruction, but that does not mean the latter is not there in the darkness. Humans inspire and provide incite where they can also breed hate, but there are times when the two streams intermingle accidentally, producing strings of confusion from those that choose to drink. The reason I bring this analogy today is because of the secrets and stories that I have withheld from the Winchesters and the consequences that they have befallen as a result of all of our actions, not just my own.

            Using the metaphorical “we” with the regard of every living creature on earth, We love, we hurt, we learn, we destroy. It is a cycle that seems never ending, especially given with my particular skillset and the life that we lead; but what does it all truly mean? We fight with each other only to feel pain; granted in some battles the feelings are what drive us to act the way that we do, but in others we are needlessly hurting those that we love because they are not their in the times that we need them. Does this apply to me and Sam and Dean? Or is it another level of idealism entirely?

            The three of us have been through a lot, to not say that would be a resounding understatement, but we continue the patterns that humanity has followed and we have observed, even after re recognize the faults of the system. There are those that we vilify without precursor and those that are elevated to pride for a reason no one understands. Two entirely different realms that inspire the same reactions...This is the life that we live. Now free from the pains that would deafen my senses for a time due to Amara’s torturing of my vessel, there remains the idea of whether or not the hands used to create the entire world and all that encompass it will avenge all that has been lost, or if they will choose to standby in humanity’s darkest hours; the very hands that created them no longer wishing to put them in motion.

            I may have stopped trying to figure out what is going on outside, but that does not mean I do not feel my brother’s emotions. Pain, suffering, abandonment long since congealed with millennia of waiting stew in him and thus affect me. A looming threat on the horizon with one of our own deep in her hold, even if the connection was weakening. I felt it then, unlike any other time. She used me even when she says she did not need to. There is something terribly wrong and I am unable to help.

            Dean... what will happen soon seems inevitable, but know that if my hands cause the destruction, you carry the ability to bring back the light.

 

Yours,

Castiel


	16. May 16

Hello,

         There seems to be quite a fair amount of avoidance in the bunker. The channels never cease to intermingle, therefore shadows and shapes appear where long ago they were destroyed, well over 100 days after the events that transpired that allowed for me to be in this position. For Americans, there is a saying that the first 100 days of a presidency are crucial for the term to be considered successful. What have my 100 days been? Lucifer has searched for more than one Hand of God, acquired one, and attempted to destroy Amara with it, as per his deal. His failure surely means that there is far more to be considered for Amara to be killed.

         My 100 days have been productive for myself. Isolation is something I am far too familiar with, but that does not mean I have not been subject to serious moments, ones in where I recollect all that has occurred to lead me to this situation. That is not of import here, however, because these entries are more than aware as to what I have thought about in my time here.

         Crowley, for all his faults, has continued to work despite losing his throne. I suppose it is only a matter of time before he recovers another item or returns bearing news, be it catastrophic or profitable. The circumstances have changed since his departure, greatly so.

         With all of the work put in, and with much of the time that we have spent together, I do not know if this metaphorical term will prove successful. Sam and Dean’s actions are nothing but an enigma to me. I can only see so much before the connection transpires. I suspect they must be working with my Father now in some capacity.

The Righteous Man and the Boy King, working alongside the source of all creation to stop the destruction of the world... That is truly a sentence worth remembering.

The resulting question is, “Where does this leave me?” I do not have much choice in that matter, frankly speaking. It is all a matter of circumstance, and right now the circumstances of my return would call for the ability for Lucifer to wreak unrestricted havoc upon the world, something I cannot let happen if I can help it. We made a deal. I have no ability to break it. My 100 days were spent biding my time for the final fight, which I suspect will come within the month. What it will bring cannot be predicted, but the fate of the world is at stake. When will it not be at stake?

 

Yours,

Castiel


	17. May 17

Hello,

It may be due to my origins, but the sound of thunder has not truly vexed me in the form that it does some humans. I find a small amount of comfort in it upon hearing the boom of the sound caused by a lightning bolt not too far from my location. Thunder and lightning carry many omens and stories with them, changing with every culture and location even in one specific region, but hearing the rain hit the walls of the bunker from time to time is an event that I have found soothing for one reason or another. Sam does not share my sentiment.

         There had been a night in where a particularly difficult storm had overtaken the greater Kansas area, one not unfamiliar with tornadoes; therefore I suppose it understanding that Dean would perhaps not enjoy the sound of a storm. Sam’s reaction had been entirely unprecedented. It seems that when he had been younger the storms resembled gunshots to him, thus as an adult now he is not particularly fond of them. It is only customary, I suppose, but human reactions to regional situations such as thunderstorms seem to correlate with the place in which they grew up. With the exception of those that did not stay in one fixed location such as Sam and Dean, I have found that not everyone shares my opinion on thunderstorms as much as I would have thought. It truly must have something to do with the how I have observed the world over a long period of time.

          One thing that I have realized in my time of watching these storms is that there is more than one type of lightning effect before the resounding crash of the thunder. Depending on the viewing capability of the eye and how much of the flash is viewable, the rays that shoot off of the central bolt can have a resounding implication to let one know if the bolt had a direct connection with the ground or not. Ones that have many smaller bolts that radiate downward apart from the central one are indicative of a direct connection of the clouds to the ground. I have heard many stories saying that this particular instance is closely associated with angels warring in heaven. It only leads me to wonder if that perhaps were true, though I have no prior recollection of ever having cast a bolt on purpose. Perhaps angels warring with each other is far more prevalent in human minds than I had anticipated at the time; regardless, it is a question that still remained open ended at present, along with so many more.

With the sound of thunder outside now, however, I am reminded of the reason that I started this thread of consciousness. Thunder signifies life, the connection of one element with another. I believe there is a human equivalent of sparks flying when two people touch, no? Where do you think the saying comes from?

 

Yours,

Castiel


	18. May 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ties in with 11x22. Watch before reading

Hello,

         Lucifer has struggled with coming to terms with God’s reappearance; his anger has only sparked more pain that hasn’t already been numb here. I did not think there could be another form of wrath, but I was greatly mistaken by it. He did not want to talk to our Father, and I have a feeling that had it not been for Sam and Dean the resulting conversation would not have occurred. There is far more to their debate than a simple disagreement; having them speak to one another without destroying even the smallest of objects is quite a feat, even if He was preventing Lucifer from exerting any angelic power.

         I know my place in this fight, the role with which I am tasked to play. After Lucifer and God reconciled their differences the plan had been set, one that, while perhaps not the most ideal did carry merit. I knew Lucifer could not convince our brothers and sisters alone, however. Millennia of pain and suffering does will affect the entire family, not just the ones directly involved. I did not find it surprising when I found myself in Heaven in front of them all, explaining to them what they could do to help in the bigger fight that far extends the quarrels between angels. I told them that God was here, no longer omniscient.

I suppose my record with Heaven, though not equal to Lucifer’s, is still tainted enough for me to also be met with resentment. How could they not? I am a terrible leader, the one that cast the angels out of Heaven. It is only logical that I am as mistrusted as Lucifer, even more so for having said Yes to allow myself to be a vessel. Mentioning His name allowed for some understanding, but it took a fair amount of convincing before I had enlisted their help. From there I asked that they follow Lucifer. My role was the vessel, not the leader. It is the only way for this plan to work. This entire ordeal: playing my part, watching and waiting for the final battle while Lucifer burned through me. I would do it again.

Once God returned Lucifer and I back to the bunker I resumed my role, listening but not partaking. Watching Dean advocate for Amara’s death even after God’s explanation of that being a biblical impossibility... To say it did not feel right would not be the right wording. Lucifer voiced my opinion in different words, but the implication was the same. There is something that Dean is not divulging, something that runs deeper than perhaps even he thought possible. It is unsettling.

The plan had been set, however. It was time for the final altercation, the ending result be it what it may. It was quick, each wave of demons, angels, and witches being wiped out one by one. We had recovered an inscribed stone from Lucifer’s weapons cache not long ago, one that had the ability to wound even the oldest of demons. Surely it would have some effect on Amara, and Lucifer was not mistaken once he’d plunged the spear into Amara, God having effectively distracted her.

When She spoke to God... Was it all true? Is the only reason God wished to create all that we know solely because he wished to be worshipped? To be a Lord? No, there is more to this. There has to be, but the voice of Amara, for all her faults, did not sound as if it was meant to be controlling in that moment. It was a little sister asking why her brother never wished to acknowledge her. Had it been different circumstances, I do not think I would have given her the myth that she became. Ego can tempt even the purest of souls, but that does not mean there is more than one layer to the story, especially when it concerns the very person that created it.

The next few instances happened too quickly. I felt myself be thrown back, all weapons ripped from my hands. There was an insurmountable pain, the feeling of a form being ripped from my body. Is this what Jimmy felt when I was ripped apart all those years ago? This... disarming element where there is not other thought but a mind-numbing scream?

There is only black now. Darkness? No. Unconsciousness. No bunker; no television; no static white noise. There is a void. The Empty?

Something monumental has occurred and I have no strength to figure out what it is.

 

Yours,

Castiel

 


	19. May 19

Hello,

Everything is dark, almost as if Sam had dimmed the lights of the bunker just before he would go to sleep, or when Dean would want to watch a movie without any sort of luminary distraction. Only here, the very lack of light is the distraction, the only element present that even allows for the idea that there is still something. If I dwell on the idea too much I could almost find it ironic.

Sound is slowly returning, or rather the understanding that I am feeling the vibration of the air around me. It has been quite some time since that. Why have air when there is no need for me to breathe it in my head, after all. I no longer feel a separate presence, but does that truly mean Lucifer is gone? Or has he simply gone unconscious once more, dormant inside this vessel? Time is an eternity here, but slowly those vibrations are coming and going. Is that me? No; sensing the presence of voices and giving them are divergent of each other.

Sam? Dean?

There are two tones in those vibrations, one more gruff than the other. Yes, it is them. It has to be. Did it work then? I have a sickening feeling that it did not, but my thoughts are scattered here in the darkness. There is no light so as to properly arrange them. I have no choice but to continue to wait. That is my part after all.  


Yours,

Castiel


	20. May 20

Hello,

         Fire, the bringer of both warmth and destruction. We are no strangers to the element that was gifted to the world centuries ago, the being that sparked life and sheltered some while destroying forests and homes of others. For us, fire is the weapon of choice when on a case at a graveyard, but in my time I have realized that there is far more to it than a simple combustion of flame.

         Feeling the heat and being afflicted by the heat are entirely separated with regards to an angel that once became human. There had been a fire in the kitchen of the bunker once that had required a fire extinguisher, but it also served as the first time I acquired second degree burn marks from attempting to douse it by hand. It had not been a cooking fire, rather it had been from a ill-put plug not entirely fitting into the worn out and old sockets of the bunker at the time. The spark caused a neighboring dishtowel to be set aflame, and thus the resulting 20 minutes in attempting to put the fire out ended with my hands aching excruciatingly and a rather large cold spot on the kitchen floor for a few days. Neither Sam nor Dean had seemed particularly pleased at the time.

         Dean bound my fingers and hands together so that they could heal, but it rendered them nearly unusable except for the occasional cleaning of a surface due to their size. I could no longer hold objects or press keys. Hunting was out of the question entirely, and I was not able to take care of my hands by myself, or rather, that is what Dean continued to berate me with at the time. To him, fire is not only a weapon, but it is also the very thing that took the life of those that he has cared the most about in the form of his mother. Sam, too, in that regard, with Jess. While this is hardly the same scenario, they do not take burns lightly.

         I had learned much about the process of healing burns since then, how fire may be used as destruction and how it can also lead to healing in the form of keeping one’s self warm when the heaters of the bunker were to malfunction. Dean repeatedly checked and re-bandaged my hands, Sam taking turns on and off as well on occasion. I would even call it almost entertaining, how they would continue to comment on how my hands were healing, but those would usually come from Dean after he’d re-bandaged them and checked each finger accordingly.

         Fire can mean destruction when misused, yes; but it can also be used positively, and that I saw on a colder night that prompted the need for a contained flame to keep our bodies warm while my hands had been bandaged. The light that shown in that darkness very much reflects the atmosphere that we are in now I believe, but this time hands are not the only things that can be used in the fight the dark that surrounds the light.

Yours,

Castiel


	21. May 21

Hello,

         Time alone has given me the ability to think, that much has already been established... But time here in the interim, somewhere between consciousness and slumber, the mind wanders even more than it would in a dream; It can be slated in reality with the elements of whimsy or it can morph into a nightmare that one can never wake up from. In this case the former is what I seem to be witnessing.

         I see the hills of Tuscany, their rolling expanses stretching far off into the horizon on either side in Italy. There is a man attempting to record himself while on a bicycle tour it seems, ending his call just before catapulting himself into a nearby bush. It could almost be comical, if I understood what was going on. If you have ever been on a hillside or near a mountaintop then you may understand a shred of the beauty that I cannot convey into words when gazing at the view around me. I have been here before, yes, but Italy’s history has been a long fought road, ravaged by battle and the dissolution of states that could not reach autonomy. Here, however, there is but a bicycle tour group and a rather beautiful sunrise... Or is it perhaps a sunset?

         I cannot feel the ground below me, rather I can feel it pressing at my side, most likely a subset of the reality meeting this dreamscape that I find myself in. Sound seems to have fully returned, however. I can hear the wind hallowing through the grass and willows that extend through here, the buzzing of the wheels on the mountainside roads of bicycles and cars alike. It is a world at peace, entirely unlike the world in which the Darkness is right now.

         The man seems to have retrieved his phone and bicycle from where he had crashed earlier, and in that moment I realized that we were at a castle high atop one of the mountain peaks, a national site of sorts that remained from the many battles fought over the very land we stand on. He complains in the same manner Dean would about the elevation he was at, but that would be their only similarity. There are other bikers that seem to be resting as well, but none have acknowledged my presence. It is very likely they do not see me at all.

         This is not the bunker. This is not my mind, therefore what is this? The more I ponder it I suppose it could be my mind’s way of retracting into a foreign memory of perhaps a vessel, or maybe even one of Jimmy’s long dormant memories. Italy truly is beautiful... even in this realm. One day I will return in my physical form, see this view and feel it truly. Sam might come, and Dean would take a fair amount of convincing but I would not rule out his decision entirely. They would like this view as well.

 

Yours,

Castiel


	22. May 22

Hello,

         Today would be a day in which Mars would be viewable with the naked eye in the night sky for those in the northern hemisphere. To see another planet without the need for a telescope must be an exciting venture for humans, but I remember an entirely different time when gazing up at such a faraway star meant something entirely different to me in particular. Mars, for it’s benefit, presents an entirely different story. Mars tells the story of the planets.

          Sam had been more interested in space when we had first met, asking about the planets and where I had visited in my travels, if I even had travels outside of Earth. Galaxies and entire universes are entirely different to Earth, and yet it is Earth that we live in, Earth that was chosen to thrive. All of creation... and the human race is only still at the start of their adventure. One day they were said to expand, tell the far outer reaches of space the story of the Winchesters, one they would be the ones to see Earth in the sky joined by millions of stars around it. One day the world as they saw it would change forever; this I had told Sam at the time.

         Dean had shown far less interest, but not long after that he would ask if I could explain certain stars and planet formations to him, how I had seen them versus how history recorded them. History has many inaccuracies, therefore it took a fair amount of time to explain the entirety that was witnessing the first stars burst to light and then implode to form black holes after supernovas, but that night had been one of learning for Dean just like I had spoken with Sam. Both brothers had seemed as if they wanted to ask more about the mere idea of the cosmos, how, for example, Mars had different minerals and elements present if it and Earth were made from the same material. “Star stuff,” he had called it. That part of recounting was far more difficult to explain.

         I suppose that Sam has most likely asked my Father more about the world that exists outside of Earth. His curiosity knows no bounds, which is a very admirable feature of course. Dean would ask a handful of times after that conversation while we were looking at the stars, but I wonder if there is something more that he wishes for me to reveal without him having to ask. Knowing Dean, that is most likely the case, but just what it could be is something I never truly found a way to uncover.

 

Yours,

Castiel


	23. May 23

Hello,

         I have watched much television in the past few months than most humans do I suspect, but even with that I still have yet to scratch the surface in terms of just how many stories have been told on the moving screen. These characters in these shows suffer countless tragedy, and even in reality television there are stakes that are elevated into another realm of suspense, horror, and passion. Why do extreme emotion bring about such a react from humans? In another universe the lives of the Winchesters and myself are scripts on a screen, in our universe they are books written by a pseudonym for my Father Himself, but regardless they are stories that have been told (and from my understanding also retold) with heightened emotions, stakes, and challenges over and over again. It would prove to be odd enough to be considered, no?

         Dean had asked about our stories, why a (then) prophet had the ability to craft their lives without their consent. Granted, he’d related this information to me after a night filled with an imbibing of rather too much alcohol, even for him. At the time I did not know what to say that would alleviate any pain. Given the chance now, however, I still would not know. I would most likely question it myself now, I suppose.

         The reasons for me remembering that cold night in a motel room escapes me, but the stories and the reason in which I am writing this in particular does not. The stories that we tell and the secrets that we keep are images of that with which we comport ourselves in our everyday lives, even for hunters and angels. Neither Sam nor Dean debrief all of their stories on each other or myself, but that does not mean there is not a place in where the stories are still told. For some it is in journals, written down with the idea that they forever exist when the sentient mind is no more, but for others they are thoughts, permanently ingrained into the minds that created them and thus only for them. It is up to them to divulge those stories to others, something both Sam and Dean have done on more than one occasion not just to each other, but to myself as well. This is why I think about that night in the motel room with Dean.

         Heightened emotions, feelings that humans can have in their moments of weakness... I suppose I understand that our lives can very much resemble the stories told on a television series, but that does not mean I do not understand Dean’s sentiments on more of a deeper level now.

 

Yours,

Castiel


	24. May 24

Hello,

         Lucifer is gone. Amara must have expelled him from my vessel, though why she spared me I haven’t the slightest idea.

         My body, it feels... alleviated is not the right word I am looking for, but I no longer feel the torment in the same regard that I had been feeling in the past few months. There are scars on the walls, but the beast has been killed. Where does that leave the cage?

         Much has happened since we last spoke. It is amazing what a 24 hour cycle can spring, even in moments of unconsciousness. Humans can buy houses or new babies can be born, but for me all that I have seen is another moment to think, another moment to wonder what my role is now that Lucifer is no longer there. His plan had failed, therefore there is a call for a new one, but what will it be? How can we truly stop the Darkness now, with no archangels, no demons, no witches. It truly seems as if the odds are very much stacked against us.

         But there will be a way.

         Debating, fighting, longing, and surviving... these are all human emotions that we are currently dealing with. I can hear a voice saying as much, but I am still coming to terms with my own movements being my own once more. It is odd, how out of touch one can get with their body when they are no longer in control, even for a small amount of time. Life goes one while I am here, unsure of if my legs still work and which one is operated by which side of my brain.

         Dean is there. I do not think he has realized that I am here as well at first, but his entire demeanor changed when he recognized me as me. Lucifer is gone. Does that please him? No, most likely not. He is just consolidating his anger. I will hear about it soon enough.

         What lies in store for us now? What is the plan? I fear this is all that I have been asking for the entirety of this entry but that does not mean the question will go unanswered. There is much to discuss and little time to do so.

 

Yours,

Castiel


	25. May 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ties in with 11x23. Watch before reading

Hello,

         The sun is dying. God is dying. Our plans had been for naught in our attempt to stop Amara. I am my own again, even if I feel like an idiot in the process. And what did Rowena insinuate with her comment on Dean’s gun. It is customary for Dean to have his gun. The statement confused me, but that is not of import at present. Also I suppose it would make sense for a dog to have more than one meal, thus breakfast. But again, not relevant.

         Rowena took us outside. The sun and it’s light is dying; the earth will soon join it as the supernova comes into full effect. The sun is the source of all light on earth. It gives the plants their supplies to photosynthesize, it allows for humans to take in necessary vitamins and minerals to survive and thrive. Without it, there would be nothing.

         My Father returned us to the bunker in that moment, but I did not expect for Dean to surrender so quickly. There had to be something that we could do, but Dean’s “last days” ritual is not a habit so easily broken. Perhaps he is right. This may just be a problem we cannot truly fix. We will most certainly need a lot of alcohol then.

         I expected anger, interrogation, confusion... but understanding? Acceptance from Dean? I had made a stupid decision with the idea that I was helping, but he saw more to my decision than I do. It was a conversation I did not think we could have if others were around. Dean spoke with decision. He truly believed what he was trying to get me to understand. I am their brother; family. All I could do was thank him. When I wanted to say more, to find a way to let him know that I mean it, Sam called on the phone with a potential lead. Maybe he will never know, but this I can live the remaining hours with. There are bigger matters.

         Sam’s plan to finish Amara so as to maintain the balance made logical sense, though it was yet to be seen if the plan would actually truly work. For Rowena’s proposition to build a bomb we needed light to quell the Darkness. I attempted to go up to Heaven to ask for help, but I was met with resistance.

My brothers and sisters’ faces upon seeing the truth, upon knowing the state of our Father... Instead of rallying I was met with mutual acceptance of defeat. They recognized me as Castiel, the vessel of the deceiver, but even after pleading with them to aid in giving souls that would not be harmed I could not sway them. They wish to die with dignity. What dignity?

The lights changed in the bunker when Billie showed up, almost as if she had known just when our conversation would end in our questioning what to do. She did not come to reap Sam and Dean, she came to aid us by giving us the souls that we required. When you need souls, ask a reaper.

Now that we had the bomb at our disposal, however, we needed one of us to get close enough to be able to set it off. That meant someone with a personal connection...

That meant Dean.

...

We went to Mary Winchester’s grave. I could feel the need for Dean to go. This was the final time he would be able to say goodbye to his mother, he was so uncertain of his future. He thought he was truly going to die alone. I couldn’t let him do that, not after what we’d been through. He’d declined my offer to go with him, to help, but I knew that it was not out of pity or disrespect. Dean knew that Sam would need me, even if he needed me more. We were a family, and family had to look out for one another. The Winchesters taught me that.

When Chuck sent him up... I did not know what to do. There was nothing to fight, nothing to plan. All we did was... just wait here. Wait until the end or the saving of the day. Either way it was the last time I would see Dean... The idea is not setting in, but I could still feel his presence.

Even in our waiting we made do with what we had. When Chuck disappeared I did not know what to expect. A final confrontation where Dean and Amara were? Did something else happen to Dean?

The sun cleared up almost entirely too quick after Chuck disappeared. It seems Dean accomplished his mission. But where is Dean now... I thought I would feel different when he died, like I had with when he’d been under the influence of the Mark... But now I just feel... nothing different.

...Is he truly dead?

The world was saved, therefore I suppose there is only one answer to that question.

But now I must do what Dean asked of me. I must be there fore Sam.

Getting zapped out of the bunker by an unknown woman is not how I planned for the rest of this night to go.

 

Yours,

Castiel


	26. May 26

Hello,

I remember Sam not being particularly fond of this day, not for the reason behind why it is the way it is, rather the symbol for Red Nose Day is a clown nose. 

Regardless, I do find the tradition very thoughtful, not only because it seems to unite a front in the attempt to help children, but also because the resulting events that come from such a day are very amusing to watch. The red nose is the universal symbol for such a day, and on more than one occasion I have found myself with purchasing more than one around this time in the past. Dean would usually be more than willing to aid in my acquiring of these from the local stores, though I suspect it was more likely because it allowed for him to prank his brother. I should not find that surprising. 

Nevertheless, on days like this in the past I do remember asking why humans would volunteering subject themselves to any sort of humiliation of television. With what K have learned since then I understand the truer meaning to the entire day. It is a day of laughing and or enjoyment. It is a day for adults to be children again and for children to forget about their struggles. It is a day to raise money and shine a light for those that are unable to do so. That is what human nature is built on, and even with political atmospheres being what they are or how damaged the world may seem, there are moments like today that remind us, Angels and humans alike, the definition of compassion. 

In terms of present location I am not near a place that could allow for me to partake in the activities, but I am working my way through the jungle that I was sent to. Hopefully soon I can find my way back to the bunker without arousing suspicion. It seems as if it will be a long journey to get there, however, but I will do my best. 

 

Yours,

Castiel


	27. May 27

Hello,

I found myself closer to civilization today, watching and looking for clues as to where I am. There was much celebration for where I was; apparently some seniors had graduated today from my understanding. What did they graduate from I wonder? I wish them well in their endeavors and hope they remain active in their coming years, come what may. 

Growing old had once not carried the same weight to me that it does to humans. It was only after a time that I realized just what a greater feeling of both fear and curiosity that it could bring to the individual. As an angel I had not thought about the lifespan of a single life because I myself had never found the need to give it thought. Now, however, I see the value in experiencing every day, passing miles stones such as growing older or celebrating a birthday. Even though that is no longer the case for me now does not mean I do not still see the joy that it must be to graduate as a senior. My, what a custom! Celebrating this stage in life is an event that I find very thoughtful. It allows you to ponder over all that you have lived while almost starting another chapter in your life of senior standing. 

Congratulations to any seniors that may be affected by these words. I am sure you have many stories of your own to tell your children and grandchildren. I wish you all the best from this small town that I find myself in. 

 

Yours,

Castiel

 

 


	28. May 28

Hello,

 

I have found myself in London now after having crossed a verity of locations once I had figured out where I was. It is quite a newly modernized city, far removed from its more traditional counterpart that I once saw many years ago. It is truly a city that has changed greatly with time, ever changing while still retaining aspects of its old English atmosphere. The massive wheel that seems to be a popular attraction here is also very eye catching, but there are still buildings that I remember. 

Dean has only rarely been overseas on a very small number of times, but I do believe Sam has been more after a term studying abroad. I once found myself attempting to speak to Dean on the matter, as he had been the one that had been less, but more often then not this ordeal would result in Dean drifting off to sleep. The attempt, I suppose, is still a valid one, even if the execution did not bode well. 

I attempted to walk around the districts in downtown London, but on more that one occasion I seemed to be stopped by men dressed in a variety of different garments, one of which very closely resembled my own appearance at one point. It was odd, coming across these men (and at times, women) that seemed to recognize who I was without any prior meeting. If I were human I would find it disturbing how accurate they got to the world in which I reside from, but I suppose that would not make the upmost sense. Regardless, the different people would often remind me of each other, as if they all were the same person carrying a different face. Interesting. 

I may be in London for a few days, as there seems to be rumors of a haunting in one of the old local bars, but for now this unexpected trip has turned out to be intriguing. Perhaps going on a hunt will allow for me to question the ghost on any whereabouts of Sam or this mystery woman, but we shall see. 

 

Yours,

Castiel


	29. May 29

Hello,

In the lives that the Winchesters and I need, exhaustion and complete, total fatigue are states of being we are far more than familiar with. That does not mean, however, that we are used to the ordeal. 

There have been far too many days in where exhaustion threatens to overpower us. The time spent in Purgatory, my time as a human, more than one case that would leave more than a few small scars are just a few examples in where I felt my limbs no longer allow me to move in the manner that I wanted. Dean and Sam have had their own stories with this as well, but one such time that I remember vividly was after a case involving an Amarok in an abandoned Ski resort in Utah. There had been reports about missing teenagers in the area as well as large wolf sightings that had prompted us to go at the time, but in that time I do not think any of us had an idea of just how extensive the search for a missing body and a creature that caused avalanches whilst living in the snow could do on the human body. Both Sam and Dean had suffered some stage of frostbite at the time, and even I had started to feel the cold despite my being.

It had gotten to the point in where we had spent more than two weeks hunting this elusive wolf when it had attacked us near midnight on one of the higher mountaintops in the lounge. Sam had suffered deep cuts that he had not felt due to the cold, which could have been fatal had we not found a way to end the wolf’s life before it was too late. Dean had also suffered loss of feeling in his ears due to the entire system being nearly frozen. To say it was an uncertain ordeal was an understatement, not because I could not feel them, but rather because injuries such as these had to take their course.

Dean could not put anything on his ears for more than a few minutes at a time due to them being so fragile, and Sam had begun getting circulation to work in his limbs after a few days with no outdoor activity. It was up to me to make sure that they remain as warm as possible so as to make sure to speed up the recovery process. Sam took kindly to my attempt at microwaving food to keep things warm. I had accidentally spilled a steamed meal on Dean, however. At leads his mouth had still been working.

            It took quite a way of healing for them to return to a healthy state, but even now I have seen them still at the thought of going to a colder environment when the situation presents itself. What I am trying to say from all of this is that exhaustion can hinder our abilities, even with ailments that render us immobile for a considerable amount of times. Despite the reasons for having put us there, I do think both Sam and Dean (as well as myself) desperately needed the time to restore and replenish our strength. I thought we would be able to do that again after we had been able to finish with Amara... It appears situations change.

 

Yours,

Castiel


	30. May 30

Hello,

            In memoriam of those that have been lost in countless battles as well as in honor of all those that have served, today is a day for soldiers, medical combatants, and all branches of those that serve their countries. Many see it as a precursors to the fourth of July in terms of seeing the American flags decorate houses across the country, but that it is a day that I have come to symbolize with a day to pay respects to the souls that have been lost in fighting for what they believe in.

            Sam, Dean, and I have been to countless tombs, either for purposes of uncovering a body for the purposes of a case or to pay our own respects to those that are no longer with us. Both of them once told me about a case that involved a tomb of an unknown soldier in the South a few years ago, how it was very difficult to do so even if the ghost of the fallen Confederate soldier was killing those in the local town. I have seen Arlington national cemetery as well as other major memorial cemeteries, but the prospect of so many graves being lain to rest in one location because of a battle or a war is still very astonishing to realize, regardless of how many years I have spent as a soldier myself. Do my brothers and sisters have the same type of burial ground beyond their deaths?

            ... Losing a loved one in battle is something I am far too familiar with; Sam and Dean as well. It is days like today that make honoring them that much more important, regardless of how or when they died. Some are more hard to remember than others, not because of their duties, but rather because of what they meant to me as something that was not a fellow soldier in the garrison or even as a human. There is Hannah, Gabriel, Jo and Ellen Harvelle, Kevin, and Charlie... So many more beyond them, all gone too soon. I have seen more than many in ways of deaths with my having lived for so long, but they have never felt as important as the last few years have made them be to me. Both Sam and Dean have joined their ranks on more than one occasion, myself as well, even if we have returned out of a handful of different reasons.

We are an army of walking ghosts, but we are still here, even after all that has happened in our lives.

But we continue to live in honor of those that have fallen, for those that have sacrificed so as to help make sure we continue living. It is a sacrifice that Dean made once again, this time for the whole of creation, but that does not mean I am still unsettled by his absence. If he has passed, then I have no way of finding him in Heaven or Hell, as neither location has given me information on where he could be, but Dean Winchester was a man that sacrificed everything countless times for the greater good, for the ability to give children and families a tomorrow that they can count on. He always said he was a soldier, but he became much more beyond simply a man with a mission.

Therefore to those that we have lost, both in this universe and others, I honor you.

 

Yours,

Castiel

 

 


	31. May 31

Hello,

            The rainstorm that is currently transpiring outside is indicative of my current sentiments concerning this entire issue. I have attempted at locating the woman that had cornered Sam so as to know what I could do to dismantle her schemes from another perspective but I have found no leads. What I did find was a haunting at 50 Berkeley Square.

There had been reports of a woman that had committed suicide in the attic of the home in the 1900s, but the building itself was first built in the 1700s, long before. As the rumors would be, whoever stayed the night in the attic was found dead the next day, no potential leads to be had. The cycle would continue every decade or so, with 8 murders before it would once again be peaceful.

             From what I had gathered from the local neighbors and the owner of the house (it is now the headquarters of a bookseller) there had been no one that was meant to stay the night there, aside from a boy no more than 5 or 6 years of age that had made it his home in recent days. It seemed the ghost of the woman had yet to take him. Had he brother been with me during my gathering of information Dean would have attempted to ask the owner out, but there were pressing matters at hand and a variety of books that needed to be saved in this very old home from the ghost.

            After having asked the owner to allow for me to speak with the boy and read him a bedtime story, he had mentioned that the woman would come for only those that she deemed wretched enough. This is why I had assumed then that the boy had been left unharmed, but that did not mean that perhaps I fit the category well with recent events. Surely being the vessel to Lucifer himself must help me in some regard, no?

            My suspicions had proven likely, for not a few minutes later the premonition manifested itself as a young woman, spewing profanities about abuse and the devil incarnate. I suppose she had some shred of truth in her statement...

            The boy had remained unharmed during the altercation thankfully, but I had gotten more than a fair share of gashes from being thrown around before I could properly expel her. Once the owner of the store had returned to retrieve the boy and I had assured her that the phantom of the woman was no longer with us, she allowed for me to find a place to escape the torrential downpour that was taking place for the night.

            I will be making my way back to the United States soon, but not after I see if I can find some more information here in Europe. I have heard that perhaps Spain might be an important location to visit, but for now I must wait out the storm and recover in a much more timid sense. Fighting and hunting on one’s own, regardless of whether or not one is an angel, still does not feel as right as it does when one is with others.

 

Yours,

Castiel


End file.
